There may be few more unlikely rappers than Chilly Gonzales, the man
who admits he's "self-absorbed (and) a musical maxi-pad" who finds himself
more "at home in a taxi cab" than on the mic. This unusual Canadian emcee
isn't even close to being as hispanic as his nom de plume, as he was
born with the name Jason Charles Beck. When he's not rapping he goes by
just Gonzales, but then again when he's not rapping he's playing piano, for
which he was classically trained at McGill University. The deeper you go
into Chilly's bio, the weirder things get. He spent years as the frontman for
an alternative pop rock band named Son, he moved to Berlin even though
he didn't speak a word of German, and he once challenged the unkempt
rocker Andrew W.K. to a duel of pianos at Joe's Pub in New York City.
Observers claim he won when he distracted Andrew by throwing a gold chain.

Usually when artists have a bio this wild or outrageous, I either assume that
they're completely full of shit or that their life's story has been exaggerated to
an absurd degree to make someone ordinary come off as extraordinary. The
rap from Chilly suggests otherwise, as he's quite charmingly disarming, sounding
more like a spoken word poet who finds himself gravitationally pulled toward
hip-hop. The fact he's a piano virtuoso can be considered an accident, a happy
coincidence, or just a curiosity. The fact that he can play his own instrumentals
is a plus, and in fact he's performed while other Canadian emcees have
rapped over his ivories (Drake comes to mind) but it's not his oddball persona
or his instrumental acumen that draw you in - it really is his rhymes. Chilly
is what would happen if a rapper made every song like the denouement of the
movie "8 Mile," dissing himself before you could. "Self Portrait" says it all
literally, but it also finds time to elevate pop culture:

"I'm way beyond snob
I'm a Louis Vuitton slob
You want the truth? No prob
I see the face of God in a blowjob
I see the truth, in Eric Cartman
In Salvador Dali and Dolly Parton
And even Chris Martin
When I dance to 'Viva La Vida' alone in my apartment"

His flirtations with the absurd or self-deprecating are a bit reminiscent of
fellow Canadian rapper D-Sisive,
although lacking D's sometimes dark melancholic introspection. Many of
Chilly's songs are remarkably short, with tracks like "Rap Race" clocking in
at under two minutes. Brevity is to his benefit, as it allows Chilly to make
points without becoming tedious or uninteresting - and he certainly does
have them. For all his jokes and his off beat attitude, he cares about hip-hop.
One gets the feeling it's the only thing this eclectic eccentric takes seriously.

"If you don't like rap, then face it
You probably hate this, you're probably racist
We can debate it as tasteless
But I am not a musical rapist
Those videos, booty and fake tits
You owe it to yourself, embrace it
The free market, at its most basic
Obsessed with 'Cars', like Ric Ocasek
Remember when it used to be conscious?
It's better now - they talk about watches
And if that makes you nauseous
I bet you don't know who the boss Rick Ross is"

Clocking in at 40 minutes total with instrumentals included, "The Unspeakable"
isn't unremarkable. It's a short but powerful journey into the mind of a man who
has worn many hats over the years, but finds the nerdy rapper from Canada that
plays piano to be the most comfortably fitting. That hat must be a took. Even
if Chilly isn't always serious, "The Unspeakable" is a surprisingly good album
that even hardcore rap purists should take seriously.